Chapter 13

Qin Baiyan returned to the hotel and sent a message to Ayi.

“Min Fan is sick. He’ll be taking a week’s sick leave for now.”

Ayi was in the middle of cracking crab claws when his phone lit up. His smile vanished instantly.

He wiped his hands in a hurry and made a call.

Min Fan’s line was busy. No one picked up.

Ayi had no choice but to call Qin Baiyan.

“Excuse me, is he all right? Could he take my call?”

“There are some work matters that still need handing over. For the sake of the artist’s health, I need to confirm the details with him directly.”

“Not convenient,” Qin Baiyan replied coolly.

The manager refused to yield this time. He needed to hear it straight from Min Fan’s mouth.

Fearing the worst for his star, he said in a grave tone, “Please let me verify that he’s safe. Otherwise, the company has a contractual obligation to alert the authorities.”

This was no joke.

No romance, no matter how passionate, justified blowing off a schedule like this. Min Fan was a top celebrity now. Leaving aside the scandal of a public relationship, he had an endless stream of endorsements and magazine covers lined up. There was no way he could just take leave again.

Qin Baiyan lifted his wrist. Little Snake had just stirred from sleep and was flicking his tongue at him.

He had to quash the outsider’s suspicions as quickly as possible.

“Your artist wishes to become one of Shenye Corporation’s shareholders. He needs to attend a seven-day evaluation meeting and ratify the relevant capital increase agreement.”

Qin Baiyan spoke evenly. “I’m his recommender.”

“With his limited capital, the approval and filing process will be difficult. It’s unlikely to go through, but we’ll make every effort.”

“Ayi, anything beyond that touches on corporate secrets.”

“I’ve smoothed things over with the crew. You handle the company side yourselves.”

“Min Fan’s tied up in an international meeting. He asked me to pass this along first. He’ll reach out once he’s free.”

Old Xu was eating at the next table. Seeing his fellow agent on the verge of cracking, he carried over a plate of fried shrimp by way of greeting.

“What’s wrong, buddy? Those two not coming back tonight?”

“It’s not about that.” Ayi recounted the ordeal with great difficulty.

Old Xu paused. “They’re not planning to get married, are they? Already divvying up shares?”

Ayi: “Ah? Ah??”

Qin Baiyan was alone in the hotel suite. After hanging up, he pondered his next move.

He needed to periodically sustain his White Falcon form, but his reserves from before would last a good while. He could cut back on the time for the next few days.

Yet he didn’t dare let Min Fan out of his sight.

Even with the chip’s tracking, a tiny Black Snake could slip into any corner of a room.

Qin Baiyan sensed he needed to get a cage.

Little Snake’s self-awareness hadn’t fully awakened yet. He required constant, unwavering care.

He ordered his subordinates to deliver an Incubator Box overnight, complete with every style imaginable.

White sand, decorative landscaping, thermometers, green plants, branches, Pinky Rats.

Sensing their boss’s foul mood, the men even picked up over a dozen types of small nests—plush, ceramic, red clay, and more—determined not to leave anything to chance.

Qin Baiyan personally arranged a spacious, comfortable transparent enclosure. He placed Little Snake inside, double-checked the latches, and only then stepped away.

He was exhausted today. He needed sleep soon. Once Little Snake had stabilized for two or three days, he could feed him.

The man entered the bathroom, yanked off his tie, and began unbuttoning his shirt. He hadn’t even undone the third button before he strode back out.

He wasn’t reassured.

He would never be reassured.

Little Snake lay coiled in a corner of the transparent cage, every inch of his scales shimmering iridescent under the lights.

The Silver-White Neck Ring guarded his vital spot, silently logging his heartbeat.

He watched Qin Baiyan quietly, as if he had already accepted his circumstances.

Qin Baiyan stared at him without moving. After a long moment, he picked up the cage and carried it into the bathroom.

Part of him thought he was losing his mind. Another part refused to take even the slightest risk.

You cannot disappear.

You have to stay in my sight.

After a quick rinse, he draped on a bathrobe and approached the Snake Box.

The moment his hand—roughened with thin calluses—reached out, Little Snake lifted his head and glided like liquid onto his palm and up his forearm.

Qin Baiyan rarely felt anxiety like this.

“I shouldn’t have caged you,” he murmured by way of apology. “Come on, let’s go.”

He switched off the night-light and slipped into bed with Little Snake.

He was still occupying Min Fan’s side bedroom, right next to Min Fan’s own.

It felt like a gamble, or perhaps an instinctual hunch.

He was certain Little Snake would drift off to sleep alongside him, with nowhere else to go.

In the darkness, Qin Baiyan occasionally sensed Little Snake flicking his tongue, the cool tip brushing the back of his finger.

A nocturnal creature, Little Snake grew lively once the lights were out. He roamed once more across the man’s neck and chest, just as he had that afternoon.

He explored as if surveying intriguing new territory, his tail tip occasionally giving Qin Baiyan’s skin a gentle pat.

The man’s warmth merged with it once more, like an ocean guiding a river.

From his waist, down to his abdomen, then swimming back up to his chest.

Qin Baiyan didn’t roll over, letting it explore the unknown.

The Little Snake paused before his heart, as if quite fond of the spot.

The Neck Ring felt like a cool band around its neck, occasionally brushing against him with a faint itch.

It coiled back into a small snake bundle and nestled against his chest, going still—perhaps lost in a daze, or drifting off to sleep again.

The man slowly reached out, tentatively pressing his palm to its side.

The Little Snake showed no aversion, even leaning toward the edge of his fingers.

With the snake cupped over his heart, he lay utterly motionless and slept through the night.

The next day, Qin Baiyan requested leave from the director’s team, explaining that he needed to return to Beijing to handle some group affairs for a few days.

The team was busy coordinating group scenes and set construction, so they happily approved his absence.

Ayi remained only half-convinced, spending more time worrying about Min Fan’s safety.

Once home, he set up a new Snake Box.

It offered more room to move and better-equipped facilities, but he still refused to lock the Little Snake inside.

Unless they were in extremely private settings, he allowed it to cling to him almost every moment.

Beijing was drenched in night rain as the servants delivered sukiyaki and platters of wagyu beef, along with two sterile eggs specially prepared for dipping.

He placed his computer beside the hot pot, rapidly scanning through a flood of information.

Qin Baiyan’s primary role was still that of a public figure, and this trip would let him network and indirectly expand his family’s business influence.

He did indeed plan to attend the family shareholders’ meeting, where reporters would snap his photo.

The pot gave off a warm, inviting aroma. The snowflake-patterned wagyu bubbled up with a milky fragrance, stirring a slight movement from the Little Snake hidden in his sleeve.

While browsing various sources on OAC, Qin Baiyan let it emerge for some air, merely shifting the hot pot farther away.

The Little Snake sniffed at the table’s array of ingredients at a leisurely pace, occasionally pausing to listen to the pot’s steady bubbling, puzzled by the sound.

It ignored the pricey mushrooms and seafood, drifting slowly toward the sterile eggs.

A light sniff, and it seemed pleased.

The eggs were fresh—and they smelled delicious.

The Little Snake turned sideways, as if sizing up its keeper.

Qin Baiyan pretended to focus on work, his keyboard clacking steadily.

Reassured, the Little Snake first used its tail to roll an egg away, then hid itself and its prize behind a plate to quietly gauge the egg’s size.

Slender and tiny as it was, even with its mouth stretched wide, it couldn’t encompass the egg’s tip—but it still tried, licking at it experimentally.

Qin Baiyan watched the whole process in silence.

He had watched for fifteen minutes, putting the shareholders’ inquiries on hold.

As if steeling itself, the Little Snake strained its jaws wider, inching the oversized tip inside bit by bit.

The challenge proved too much; its mouth stretched so thin along the edges that it turned faintly translucent. Still, it pushed on, desperate to swallow the whole thing.

Its upper jaw expanded to its limit. A twinge of discomfort sent its long body twisting restlessly, urging its mouth to take in more.

When the entire egg finally vanished down its throat, Qin Baiyan couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He resisted the urge to snap a photo of its now-round, bulging form.

The Little Snake clutched the egg, its breathing labored. It stayed frozen for a long moment.

The man quickly searched a few keywords, instinctively reaching out to help—then pulled his hand back and dialed a friend instead.

“It’s me, Qin Baiyan.”

“Brother Qin, it’s been ages since we talked,” Professor Cheng replied. “Last time…”

“I’ve got a quick question,” Qin Baiyan cut in. “How do you tell if a snake is suffocating? It ate a chicken egg and got stuck. Can I intervene manually?”

Professor Cheng wiped sweat from his brow. “Brother Qin, I study lizards. Want me to forward you the WeChat of a snake expert?”

“Phone number would be better. Thanks.”

He hadn’t even dialed the second call when Qin Baiyan heard the faintest cracking sound.

In an instant, the Little Snake crushed the shell with its bones, relief washing over it as its swollen body returned to normal.

Savoring the yolk, it slowly spat out the fragments of shell.

Qin Baiyan let out a quiet sigh.

That night, he held it close as they slept, faintly sensing the familiar stirrings of agitation.

It had been thirty hours since its last transformation into the White Falcon, and the bloodline’s urges were growing pronounced.

He blocked them out deliberately, warming its fine scales and Neck Ring against his chest until consciousness faded.

Until, in the dead of night, his body suddenly grew heavy.

Qin Baiyan wasn’t fully awake when his ears caught Min Fan drawing a sharp breath.

The young man let out a perfectly articulated curse: “Fuck!”

“Qin Baiyan!!” Min Fan groped his way upright, discovering himself kneeling astride the other’s waist—and flew into a greater rage. “Qin Baiyan, you pervert!! What the hell are you doing?!”

Servants in the distance noticed the commotion and called softly through the door.

“Sir, do you need assistance?”

Qin Baiyan first yanked the blanket over Min Fan, then said coolly, “Everything’s fine. Carry on.”

The servant was also a bit confused.

How come it sounded like someone was cursing?

No outsiders had ever entered the house, right?

After the servants walked far away, Min Fan abruptly flipped out of bed, dragging the quilt with him.

“Qin Baiyan, how far have you gone in ‘taking care’ of me? You have ulterior motives, don’t you?!”

The man relaxedly raised his hands in surrender, his eyes smiling instead.

“You know snakes are afraid of the cold, right?”

Min Fan naturally knew this was probably that damn snake’s doing, but he didn’t care.

“Too shameless!”

“Fine,” Qin Baiyan said, “Next time you wrap around my wrist and won’t let go, I’ll record it.”

Min Fan threw a pillow at him: “Can’t you just lock me up? You’re afraid I’ll bite, aren’t you?!”

Qin Baiyan said calmly: “The snake box has always been there. If you’re willing, I’ll do everything as requested.”

Following his gaze, Min Fan saw the half-person-height ultra-luxurious snake box.

The youth thought for a moment—no, that wasn’t right.

He knew his own temper best.

If staying in a cage was comfortable, would he want to cling to a living person?

Min Fan’s ear tips flushed red. He wrapped himself in the quilt twice over, about to fire back a couple more retorts when his expression shifted slightly. He spat twice.

A few fragments of eggshell lay in his palm, like irregularly shaped scales.

Qin Baiyan said mildly: “Tasty? There’s more on the table.”

Min Fan kicked him with his foot.

“No matter what, you can’t bring a snake to bed! You’re not afraid of squashing it into potato chips?!”

The man didn’t dodge, not even changing his sleeping position.

“I like it,” he said leisurely. “In fact, you love lying right next to my heart.”